The Year I Stopped Being His novel Chapter 488

Garrison froze.

He clearly hadn't expected her to ask that, especially not now. He parted his lips. A storm of complex emotions flickered through his eyes—the urge to deny it, the burning desire to correct her, a hundred truths he had no right to voice at this moment.

But he forced it all back down and gave a stiff nod.

"Yes."

His voice was incredibly soft, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. "Without you, the Vitas Strain wouldn't exist."

Sloane looked into his eyes. She looked for a long time.

The setting sun shifted between them. The light slid across her eyelashes, casting delicate, fan-shaped shadows over her cheeks.

Then, she smiled. It was a faint, light expression, entirely different from the polite, distant smiles she used to give him in her hospital room. This smile held warmth.

"I'm hungry."

She pulled the jacket off her shoulders, folded it neatly, and handed it back to him before standing up. "Why don't you... take me to dinner."

*

The restaurant was tucked away in a quiet alley, an exclusive private kitchen known only to regulars.

Warm yellow sconces cast a glossy sheen over the leather booths. The tables were set with deep blue linen placemats, with a rustic ceramic vase in the center holding sprigs of dried lavender.

Garrison sat across from her. He opened the menu, closed it, and opened it again, his long fingers mindlessly tracing the leather cover.

This was their first dinner together since she woke up. Not as doctor and patient, but as friends.

He looked up, glancing at her with careful hesitation.

Back in college, after training, she used to drag Lexi Lowery to the local Sichuan joint behind the campus. She always ordered the extra-large boiled beef, double the blood pudding in her stew, and would literally pick the dried chilies out of the Firecracker Chicken just to chew on them.

The owner knew her by name. The second she walked in, the kitchen automatically noted: *Extra spicy, extra numbing. The hotter, the better.*

Yet Garrison not only knew her palate perfectly, but he also knew her weird habit of dipping Firecracker Chicken in vinegar.

"...How did you know I like dipping my chicken in vinegar?"

Garrison was currently pushing a tender piece of meat from the stew onto her plate.

Spending so much time with her in the hospital meant he knew exactly what she craved. She loved spice, heavy flavors, and piping-hot food.

Once, a family member of the patient in the next bed brought in a takeout box of Firecracker Chicken. She had stared at it pitifully for ages. But he hadn't let her eat it—her digestive system hadn't recovered enough back then.